


A Grand Day Out

by f-ing-ruthless-baz (f_ing_ruthless_baz)



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Canon Compliant, Driving, Established Relationship, First Dates, Fluff, Holding Hands, M/M, Miscommunication, Picnics, Post-Book 1: Carry On, Seaside
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-07 21:24:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20824031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f_ing_ruthless_baz/pseuds/f-ing-ruthless-baz
Summary: Baz and I have been dating for nearly six months. Except I don’t know if you can call itdating.We’ve never been on a date, exactly.He’s come round to Penny’s to visit me every so often, but that usually consists of us holding hands as we sit next to Penny on the sofa or the floor of her room, watching a film for a couple hours. We barely even look at each other whenever she gets up to go to the toilet. And we hardly ever kiss. Only a small peck hello or goodbye. Sometimes neither.I think he’s waiting for me.Simon plans a grand day out with Baz, but Baz won't stop complaining.





	A Grand Day Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [giishu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/giishu/gifts).

> This fic is for [giishu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/giishu), who asked me to write a fluffy first date fic. And this is what I came up with instead. 😅
> 
> I think it's more or less canon-compliant, if you don't look too closely, but there are no Wayward Son spoilers. Also, I tagged it as "Post-Book 1" but really it takes place in the time span of the Carry On epilogue, some time after the leavers ball but before Penny and Simon move in together.
> 
> Also, I'm not sure why Simon chose Margate, of all places, for their grand day out, but I'd just like to go there. Seems neat.
> 
> Many thanks to the Circle of Tears, [The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff) and [soultoast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soultoast), for the beta-reading and supporting me through a Canadian-English induced meltdown. (And giishu, as well! Endless patience!)

**SIMON**

Baz and I have been dating for nearly six months. Except I don’t know if you can call it _dating_.

We’ve never been on a date, exactly.

He’s come round to Penny’s to visit me every so often, but that usually consists of us holding hands as we sit next to Penny on the sofa or the floor of her room, watching a film for a couple hours. We barely even look at each other whenever she gets up to go to the toilet. And we hardly ever kiss. Only a small peck hello or goodbye. Sometimes neither.

I think he’s waiting for me.

I always had to make the first move, and until his leavers ball, I thought it was because he didn’t really want me. That he stayed with me out of pity and obligation, and couldn’t stand the sight of me. And if I were a better person, I would have cut him loose early on.

But every time I squeezed his hand, he’d squeeze back, and I loved that. I loved that he was right there where I wanted him. Where I needed him.

I was selfish, I thought.

_“Simon Snow, I choose you.”_

I kissed him after he said those words to me, like he was everything. He _is_ everything, to me. He’s all I have left.

He moved in with his aunt shortly afterwards, so at least we can see each other more often now. But things are still as they were. Watching films at Penny’s place. Not knowing what to do with the silences when we’re alone. (I’ve never gone over to his flat for that reason; I have no idea what I’d do if Fiona was out and it was just the two of us.)

I feel like this is why people go on dates. So they can do stuff together and share experiences—ones that aren’t traumatic.

It’s why I think Baz and I need to go on a date. An actual, proper date.

And I think I’m the one who has to make it happen.

* * *

**BAZ**

I don’t know what Snow was thinking, suggesting we spend the day in Margate, of all places. I’m not sure what’s so special about it, but I’m not about to deny him anything that he wants. Besides, I don’t usually get to spend so much time with him all at once. It’ll be good for us.

Even though, right now, I sort of want to kill him for making me leave the house at nine in the morning. It’s my last summer break before uni, I should be allowed to sleep in every day. I even told him as much.

_“I want to make sure we get there by lunch time,”_ he said after telling me at what ungodly hour we’d need to leave.

He at least had the courtesy to take the train in from Hounslow so I wouldn’t have to be out the door at half seven. (I might have dumped him for that.) (I mean, of course I wouldn’t. But I’d have thought about it.)

Snow shows up at my building—five minutes early, the bastard—wearing a dark blue button-down shirt with cuffed short sleeves and jeans that don’t hang off him loosely, for once. It’s quite a departure from his usual, a t-shirt and joggers. Maybe he’s just worried about being seen with me, afraid that I’ll outshine him. (Mauve shirt with a black floral print, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and black jeans—because we’re going to the seaside and I want to stick out like a sore thumb even more, I suppose.)

It’s good to see him like this, honestly. Neat and tidy. (Well, as tidy as one can get with hair like that.) Outside of the Bunce family home. In the lobby of my building, with my empty flat upstairs…

If he didn’t seem so eager about this Margate business, I’d be tempted to drag him up there and kiss him until we both run out of oxygen— But I don’t think I can do that. I don’t think he would let me, even without our little day trip planned.

**SIMON**

“You’re early,” are the first words Baz says to me when he meets me downstairs.

“Hello to you, too,” I reply, unable to keep the tinge of disappointment from my voice.

He gives me a once-over, like he’s evaluating my style choices—I’d like to think he’s just checking me out, but I wouldn’t count on it. “You look good, Snow,” he says, and then nods to the duffle bag on my shoulder and raises an eyebrow. “How long are you planning on staying in Margate?”

“This is just some stuff for today. Water bottles. SPF. Things we might need.” I adjust the strap over my shoulder and hope he doesn’t ask what else is in here. It’s supposed to be a surprise. “Well, we should probably hit the road soon, yeah?”

Baz doesn’t seem as enthusiastic about this as I would have hoped, I notice, as we head down to the parking garage to get his car. I worry this whole thing might be a huge mistake…

* * *

Baz grumbles and swears the whole way out of London—I told him we should take the train, but he’s the one who insisted on driving. Said he enjoys it. Though he doesn’t seem to be enjoying it today.

“London drivers are ridiculous,” he says as he merges rather dangerously into the next lane. (I decide not to point out that _he’s_ a London driver, at the moment.)

“Well, at least we’re together, yeah?” I say, looking over to see his expression soften, just a little. “Doesn’t really matter where we are.”

“If it doesn’t matter where we are, then why do I have to drive to fucking _Margate_ at nine in the morning?” he mutters. He has to know I can hear him, though.

Yeah. This whole thing is a huge mistake.

**BAZ**

I’m an idiot.

I should just be happy that Snow wants to go somewhere—anywhere—with me. I sort of thought… Well, until the leavers ball, I thought he didn’t want to be seen with me.

It’s possible he doesn’t want to be seen _with_ me, though. I don’t really know if he’s the _holding hands with his boyfriend in public_ type. (I don’t even know if I’m the type; I’ve never had the chance.)

I let go of the steering wheel with one hand and reach over for his, without taking my eyes off the road. I can feel the static of anxiety building in my chest when he doesn’t take it right away—but then he does. And I exhale silently.

“We’re together,” I say, stroking his hand with my thumb, and he squeezes. I squeeze back.

He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses the back of it. “I’m sorry I made you wake up so early,” he says softly.

_I would gladly wake up any time, as long as you’re holding onto me like this,_ I think. Of course, what I tell him is, “You owe me.”

He lowers our hands to his leg, loosening his grip. I want to take back what I said, but instead I take back my hand. (I am driving, after all.)

I glance over at him, and he’s just staring straight ahead, through the windshield. His expression inscrutable.

He used to be so easy to read. His face, his gestures, his magic; they betrayed his every emotion. But now…

Sometimes I don’t know what he’s thinking.

I suppose I could ask…

But I’m not sure that I want to know.

* * *

**SIMON**

I’m bursting for the toilet by the time we get to Margate.

Baz looks about ready to murder someone for a coffee, so we stop in at a little café to kill two birds with one stone.

He’s already sitting at a table by the time I finish up and join him, and he’s even ordered me a pot of tea. I grin at him as I take my seat.

He smiles a little and takes a sip of his drink, but grimaces immediately afterwards.

“What’s wrong?”

“Not sweet enough,” he says, frowning into his mug. “It’s just a regular mocha. Too bitter. It’s like licking dirt.”

“You know, you could just not have espresso,” I say as I try to keep myself from laughing at the look of disgust on his face. “It’s clear you don’t actually like it.”

“Not an option, Snow.” He takes another sip and grimaces again.

* * *

**BAZ**

Once Snow finishes his tea—and I finish the whipped cream off my mocha—we head out and wander aimlessly up and down the streets. Snow has a habit of just saying the names of the different shops we pass, as if they’re interesting.

I’m distracted by a vintage shop with something Gucci-looking in the window, when he moves in close to me and places a hand on my elbow. I think it’s the first time he’s touched me in public. (Watford hardly counts as _public_.)

“Hey, you hungry?” he says, and I know that’s his way of saying that he is.

“Famished,” I say, even though that’s not entirely true. Although I could eat, it’s not worth the risk of being seen. Besides, I filled up rather thoroughly before we left—since I wasn’t sure what the rodent situation would be like here—and I don’t get quite as hungry for food when I’m well fed in other respects.

But Snow clearly needs lunch; I can hear his stomach growling already.

He makes us stop at the car to get his hideous duffle bag—I was hoping he’d forgotten about it—before finding a chippy.

“What do you want?” he asks as we stare up at the menu board.

“I’m fine,” I say, waving my hand dismissively.

He looks over at me. “You said you were famished.”

“Yes, well—” I take a quick scan of the place and only find one empty table, in close proximity to others. “It’s a bit crowded in here.”

“Oh, we’re not staying,” he says. He lifts the bag on his shoulder a little. “I have a plan.”

* * *

Well, this isn’t what I expected.

I’m not sure what I expected.

Snow and I took our greasy orders to a park—which he had to keep checking for on Google Maps; we looked like bloody tourists—where he handed his over for me to hold once he’d found a quiet spot.

“I’m not sitting in the grass, Snow,” I said as he slipped his bag off his shoulder and crouched down to open it.

“Of course you’re not,” he said, looking up at me. I couldn’t tell if he was smiling at me or just squinting in the sun. (It’s mostly overcast today, but I know his blue eyes are sensitive to light.)

I was about to ask what he was doing, when he pulled out a garish yellow plaid blanket and spread it over the ground next to him. He smiled up at me again.

So now I’m sitting on some charity shop blanket in the middle of a park, with two orders of fish and chips that have soaked through the paper around them, and my terrible boyfriend stretched out next to me.

Could be worse.

**SIMON**

I thought it would help, taking Baz to the park to eat lunch, so he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone seeing him. But he’s barely touched his food. I’m pretty sure this is only his fifth chip, and I’m nearly done eating mine.

“Hey,” I say, reaching for his arm when he lifts it to hold his hand in front of his mouth. “You’re okay. No one’s watching you.”

“_You’re_ watching me,” he says. His mouth sounds full—of more than just food—so I can’t tell for sure, but I think he’s teasing me.

“Yeah.” I smile a little. “I can’t help it.”

He looks down at the blanket to hide his own smile. “Yes, well, you’ve always been a little too obsessed with me.”

I snort and he frowns. “No, it’s true,” I say as I lower myself onto my side, propped up on my elbow. “But now I’m allowed to be, right?”

“I suppose.”

I watch him for another minute before looking up at the trees and sky overhead. I wish I could lie on my back, but it’s too uncomfortable with my wings. (Penny spelled them invisible and compact against my back, but they’re still there.) (I’ll definitely need to stretch them when I get back.)

The silence builds between us for a little while before he nudges his food towards me. I swear I could grab the back of his neck right now and snog his lights out—assuming his fangs had retracted, that is.

I think about that sometimes. (Kissing him, I mean. Not the fangs.) (Though I suppose I think about those, too.)

_Really_ kissing him. Like I did before… well, just _before_.

I don’t kiss him right now.

* * *

“For Crowley’s sake,” Baz grumbles as he spreads SPF over his forearms.

“I told you to put some on before we hit the waterfront,” I say to him, and he glares at me.

“I didn’t think it was sunny enough to matter!”

“You can still get sunburnt when it’s overcast, though.”

He shakes some more out of the bottle into his hand. “Well, how was I supposed to know that?” he says. “I don’t usually spend the _entire_ day outside.”

“Do you think factor 30 is high enough?” I wonder aloud, looking at the label when he hands the bottle over to get his other arm. I look back at him. “Also, why don’t you just roll your sleeves down?”

“A, I have no idea if it’s enough, I usually just try to avoid situations like this,” he says tensely. “And B, that would ruin my _look_.”

“Well, sor-ry.”

He takes the bottle back for a moment to dispense a bit more to cover his face, which he does not look happy about. “Did I miss anything?” he asks in a huff.

“I don’t think so, but you got a bit in your hair…”

“What? _Fuck_—”

I push away his SPF-covered hand before he gets even more of it in his hair, and reach up to wipe away the splotch on his hairline, right near his widow’s peak. I let my hand linger there a moment, and brush a strand of his hair down around his face.

He’s really lovely. I mean, I’ve always thought so, probably, but it’s nice to be able to truly think that. Not converting it to jealousy or petty insecurity. It doesn’t have to be a reason to hate him, anymore.

_He’s lovely_, I think. _And he’s mine_.

I take a step closer and he clears his throat. He’s looking past me, so I glance over my shoulder to see someone eyeing us with distaste. _What—?_

Baz turns his head so my hand falls away from his face and he stares out towards the water, so I put the bottle of SPF back in my bag. I guess that’s that on PDA.

**BAZ**

I swear, if people could just mind their own fucking business, the world would be a better place.

Snow adjusts the bag on his shoulder and heads back down the promenade, the way we came.

“I thought you wanted to go to the beach,” I say when I fall in step next to him. He shrugs. “Well, why did we come all the way out here, then?”

He shrugs again.

“Crowley, Snow,” I say, frustration seeping into my voice. I stop in my tracks and hold my arm out towards the water. “If you want to go to the beach, well here it is! I didn’t drive two hours out here for you not to enjoy it! _Merlin_.”

“Fine, I’m sorry, Baz!” he snaps, practically shouting. “I made a mistake! This was a bad idea! Let’s just—” He sucks in a deep breath and lets it out gradually. “Let’s just go.”

I grab his hand swiftly and lead him over to a bench, so we’re not standing in the middle of the walkway when we have this conversation. (I don’t want to have this conversation.)

“Snow,” I say, and I can see his jaw tighten as he stares down at the ground intently. “Simon. What’s going on?”

“I thought—” he begins, and then exhales in a huff. “I thought this would be nice.”

“The beach?”

“All of it! I thought today would be— I thought it would make things better.”

His hand is still in mine, but I loosen my grip on it to let him pull away if he wants. He doesn’t.

“Make what better, Simon?”

He lets out a mirthless chuckle before looking me in the eye. “We’ve never gone out together, Baz,” he says. “On a date. We’ve never… been out together.”

I notice him look down at our hands, but he still doesn’t pull away. I nod and say, “I know.”

“I just wanted us to do something fun. I just—” He scrunches up his face, like he’s embarrassed, and runs his free hand through his curls. “I wanted to take you out, on a date, somewhere neither of us have ever been, so we could make some new memories together and maybe… Fuck, I don’t know. It obviously was a stupid idea.”

I give his hand a squeeze, that’s nowhere near the intensity of the swelling in my chest. But it’s a start. “It wasn’t a stupid idea,” I say quietly.

“You hated every minute of it,” he says, locking eyes with mine again. His look sad. Hurt.

I was right; I am an idiot.

“I didn’t. I don’t,” I tell him. “It was a lovely date, Simon. Really.”

“Then why did you complain about _everything_?”

**SIMON**

I sound like a whiny child. I sound like I might cry at any minute. (I would, too, except it’d probably look weird for a guy my size to cry in public.) (Then again, I’m holding hands with a boy, so who the fuck cares?)

“That’s just what I do,” he says, giving my hand a slight tug. “I complain. About everything. It’s why they call me _Bitch-and-Moan Pitch_.”

I laugh involuntarily. “Who calls you that?”

“Well, nobody. I hope.”

I smile a little and lean my shoulder against his.

“Do you have any idea how much I complained about you, all through our time at Watford?” he says.

“Some idea, yeah.”

“And you know how much I like you, so…”

I want to scream, _No, I don’t know. Tell me!_ But I don’t. I just nod. (I’m guessing it’s one of those things that’s just supposed to go _poetically unsaid_, or whatever.) (I’ve never been big on poetry.)

“Simon,” he continues, threading his fingers between mine, “I’m sorry I’ve been an insufferable git today. You planned all this for us, and I just… I’m sorry.”

“I dunno,” I say. “I wouldn’t say you were _insufferable_.”

A small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Should we give the beach another shot?” he says. “I promise I won’t complain the whole time.”

“Then how would I know if you’re enjoying yourself?” I say, and he laughs gently.

“Good point.”

* * *

**BAZ**

I wasn’t able to stay out in the daylight much longer, despite the SPF, so we made our way along the beach towards my car and headed home.

The ride so far has been rather quiet, save for Snow incessantly switching the channel on the satellite radio. I don’t think he has any idea what he’s looking for. I think he’s just antsy.

“Should I drop you off at the Bunces’?” I ask, startling him as he reaches for the controls again.

“Oh, er, yeah. If you don’t mind,” he says. He rests his hands on his thighs, but starts tapping his fingers against them. He’s not even matching the rhythm of the song that’s playing.

I let go of the steering wheel again—my father would be appalled—and reach for Snow’s hand. He grabs onto mine immediately, and it takes all my strength to keep myself from grinning. The hesitation is gone. He wants this.

I want this, too.

**SIMON**

I barely want to give Baz his hand back for the rest of the trip, but supposedly he _needs_ it for _driving,_ or some shit.

When we pull up in front of Penny’s house, he turns off the engine, and the silence in the car gets thicker. Tangible. I unbuckle my seatbelt with the loudest click known to mankind.

This is it. The end. Our first date is over, and now…

I think I’m just gonna do it. I’m gonna kiss him and run. Maybe he’ll like it, maybe he won’t—but at least I won’t have to stick around to find out. If I don’t do it now, then I might never—

His own seatbelt clicks open and I look over at him.

“Baz—” I say.

And then _he_ kisses _me_.

It’s not like when he kisses me hello or goodbye, like it’s a courtesy—like he _has_ to. And it’s not like when he kissed me after the Humdrum hurt him, like he _needed_ to.

He’s kissing me like he wants to.

He’s leaning over the console between us and holding the side of my face, and I let myself get swept up in the pull of his lips. It’s good.

And it’s over too soon.

“You should go inside,” he says, drawing his head back. He’s still close enough I could jut my chin forward and kiss him again. I consider it. “Otherwise they might think I’ve convinced you to run away with me.”

“Maybe I’d like that,” I say, though I immediately get embarrassed by my weird attempt at a joke.

Baz just smiles at me, in that slightly patronizing way. “Some other time, Snow.”

“Our next date, then.” I give him a small kiss before he sits back in his seat. “Only you have to plan it this time.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “You know how good I am at plotting.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to know about my WIPs and other random, vaguely Carry On or fanfic-related things I like to talk about, you can find me on tumblr as [@f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://f-ing-ruthless-baz.tumblr.com)!


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